Time
by Chiharu Octavia
Summary: Edward and Alphonse Elric want nothing more than to be together. Prose. Elricest.


It doesn't feel like a long time.

There's days and days that go by, just the two of them, a blur of bright sunlight and swift rivers, loamy grass and warm downpours. There's never enough daylight to do everything they want, to play all the games that need playing, to do all the chores that she sets for them. They try though, try hard, and when night falls they tumble in, sweaty and dirty and full of accomplishment, and she welcomes them, arms soft and sweet-smelling, hair long and thick, her smile that of an angel. The fire is warm, or the windows let in a refreshing breeze, but either way she helps them to bathe, helps them to bed, tucks them in with a song and a gentle kiss. Though they have separate beds, morning finds them close together, fingers linked, breath brushing each other's necks. This is forever, and it's more than anyone could want.

_- - - _

It feels like time is dragging.

No matter where they look, how hard they try, they never find what they need. The closer they seem to get, the farther they actually are, useless pushing worse than any Sisyphus ever had to face. Life is train after train, hard benches and lousy food, scenery that runs together outside spotted windows like the colors of a painting left in the rain, until being dirty, hungry, cold and tired are the only physical sensations that exist, and even then they only exist for the one. The other feels nothing of the outside, is a mocking shell of a human form, far too large for someone so young. They never imagined that touch was what kept them together, but lack of it is slowly driving them apart, and even as the smaller one, once the tallest, slides against the younger in exhausted unconsciousness, there is no release. Nightmares, or not being able to sleep at all, keep both of them from leaving the hell they've made for themselves. The last thought before the train enters the tunnel is shared: if this is forever, then they deserve it, and there's no end in sight.

_- - - _

Time has no meaning.

Panic. Slow motion. And then… light. Light, but no eyes. Touch, but no nerves. He is inside Truth, inside the Gate. He can hear the Voice, it echoes through his non-self, and he is in awe. There is no equivalent exchange. There is no way for them to be together. There is no happy ending. There is only life, and death, and the whims of something much more powerful than themselves. He is in Forever, and it is reluctant to let him go.

_- - - _

Time is slipping away.

Every day that goes by, he thinks about his brother. He brushes his own hair and thinks of the soft locks, the way they used to hang wetly when caught in the rain. He dresses himself and wonders what his brother's wearing, how it fits, how it feels, whether he's grown. Anything eaten is in haste, hardly enjoyed. Conversation is minimized, despite the willing company around him, foregone in his desire to find his other. Pencil leads break under anxious fingers, books are devoured and their contents disgorged in more useful formulae, the outside world becomes something he barely sees. He knows he will find it, the Gate, and even as another year rolls by, even as others try to dissuade him from trying, and he hunches over the table, stars and moon draping his aching shoulders with silver light, forcing himself not to loose the spill of frustrated tears that threatens to ruin his calculations. Frightened, he resumes work, desperate to head off what the next year's death threatens: that they will be apart forever, and there is nothing he can do about it.

_- - - _

Time is a gift, and they take it joyfully.

They cannot speak for a great part of the first day, and they barely dare to touch each other, as if gloved hands could dispel one or the other like a puff of smoke. The second day is like a waking dream, and the third day like the magic number, a hurdle they must pass for everything to remain as it is. On the morning of the fourth day, they realize they have won. The warped wooden floor is rough beneath the soles of their feet as they approach each other, hands out. They touch, tentatively at first, then confidently, hands eagerly drifting over the missing half of their lives, bodies meeting in a warm line that seems to melt them into each other. Yellow sunlight pours into their room through a cheap, cracked skylight, brighter than any sunlight before or after, and forever is broken into hot gasps.

_- - - _

It has been a lifetime.

The room is warm despite the snow outside the window, the bed thick with blankets, and they are close again, closer than spoons in a drawer and just as still. Breath mingles, slow and shallow, and arms tighten over each other with as much love as has ever been, if not as much strength. There is noise in the house, children adopted into their tiny family who are now grown, strong young men and a willful young woman, sons and daughter who take turns looking in on them as the night grows longer. The door opens with a slight creak every time, but they cannot hear it, and the curl of cool air that sweeps through the room when its sanctity is breached is unfelt. They are together, even in this, and will not let go of each other's hands. They await Forever, and when it comes, neither one will go alone.


End file.
